


The Subtleties of Certain Hearts

by missmungoe



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9401252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmungoe/pseuds/missmungoe
Summary: It's the small changes that they don't notice, at first; the ever-shifting intricacies of a partnership that began with two very simple words:"Scoot over."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, these two ran away with my heart.

When he was younger, he had nightmares of a life he couldn’t remember; bars on the windows, and flames climbing along the walls. A deck tilting beneath his feet, and water filling his lungs even as it couldn’t quench the fire lapping against his skin.

He’d been with Dragon’s people for a few weeks, but the transition was— _difficult_ , at least at first, and as his physical injuries slowly healed it was becoming clear to Sabo that there were other, worse wounds; ones that sat so deep he couldn’t even remember the cause.

One night he woke in a cold sweat, heart in his throat and a scream lodged at the bottom of his windpipe, and it had taken time to find his way back—to himself, whoever he was, and to a state of mind calm enough for sleep to claim him again.

He’d wondered, sitting in the mess at breakfast, barely touching his food, if anyone had heard; if his screaming perhaps hadn’t been as silent as he’d hoped, and he’d been embarrassed at the thought, because it wasn’t something he could control. But he’d made a vow to _try—_ that, whatever lingered from that life he couldn’t remember, he’d try and move past it, because if he couldn’t have the good memories, if there were any at all to have, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to be stuck suffering through the bad ones.

Of course, that worked about as well as expected, but it wasn’t the nightmare that woke him this time. Instead it was a small hand on his brow, and when his eyes shot open, the flames extinguished with a gusting breath, it was to find another pair looking down at him, large and understanding in a familiar face.

“Scoot over,” Koala whispered, and offered no further warning before she’d shuffled into bed with him, and promptly tucked herself against his side.

There was a moment where he was unable to move, mind still reeling, and caught in that strange void between dream and reality where strange things happened, like weird girls coming into your bed to hog your blankets. But when he blinked his eyes a few times and found that she was still there, Sabo realised it wasn’t his imagination playing tricks on him.

“If you don’t breathe you’ll suffocate,” she said, and if he hadn’t been so thoroughly caught off guard he might have found the time to be embarrassed at the realisation that he’d been holding it.

He let his breath shudder out, but he didn’t move, arms stiff against his sides. Because he didn’t know her—didn’t know any of these people, but then with the amnesia that went for just about anyone in his acquaintance. And the smart thing would be to just tell her to go back to her own room, and—

“It’s okay, you know,” Koala said then, voice gentler now, and no trace of teasing in her words. “To want company,” she added, and Sabo felt the press of her cheek against his shoulder, as though to emphasise the words.

He didn’t tell her that he did, because he hadn’t realised that was what he’d wanted. But he felt it now that it was alleviated, that curiously desperate craving—for another warm body against his back, reminding him that he wasn’t alone. He thought he might have had that once, wherever he’d come from. Maybe even more than one.

“I talk in my sleep,” she announced then, the words wrapped around a yawn. “I hope you don’t mind.”

He said nothing to that, partly because he didn’t really know what to say, but also because there was a word threatening on his tongue, that he wouldn’t have minded if she sang, because he was already starting to feel sleepy again, and the other night it had taken him hours to fall back asleep after he’d first woken up.

“I snore sometimes,” he said instead, the words quiet. And he didn’t know how he knew, he just felt that he did; that someone had once told him he did.

She hummed. “Don’t worry—I’ll pinch your nose shut.”

Despite himself, Sabo smiled, but said nothing else. He didn’t have the chance before sleep claimed him, entirely without warning. And he didn’t thank her. Somehow, between waking the next morning to find her drooling on his shirt and his nightmares miles from his mind, he forgot.

But he thought then—and would soon know it with a surety that he’d never question over the course of their long years together—that she understood, anyway.

 

—

 

They didn’t share a bed every night, and he didn’t question how she knew just which ones he needed it; if she really could hear him screaming through the walls, or if there was something else that tipped her off. When he’d been younger he’d thought it might be a girl thing, but he’d dismissed it after he’d asked her and she’d rolled her eyes and flicked his nose so hard it had brought tears to his.

And it didn’t really matter how she knew, just as it didn’t really matter why she came, because it wasn’t just for his sake, Sabo was quick to realise.

Whenever she woke him up from his nightmares she’d always say something, a gentle “Move over” that brooked no argument, or a “ _Mou_ , Sabo-kun, do you really need the whole blanket?”, her voice seeming to anchor his mind in the waking world. And he’d always understood why she did it, but had never managed to find the words to explain that he was grateful—for her understanding that he didn’t want coddling, or questions, but that it wasn’t always easy to come back to himself on his own; that her voice helped, when he scrambled for reality, the nightmare still at his fingertips.

But there were nights where she’d say nothing at all. Often, it was the nights there were no dreams clinging to his mind, and he'd wake to find her standing by his bed, no smart remarks offered. 

And he didn’t ask on those nights, when her eyes didn’t hold understanding but _fear_ , and her smiles were nowhere to be found. Instead he just made room for her, and allowed her to settle down, yielding more of the blanket than he usually did, and he would know from her silence on the matter that what bothered her hadn’t just been a run-of-the-mill bad dream.

She preferred to sleep with her back to him on those nights, but still close enough to touch. And it would take years before he’d realise _why,_ and that the pressure of another body against her back had a different effect—had an entirely different _significance_ —than it did for him.

She told him outright, one day; shared the nightmares that kept her from sleep and their reasons, and Sabo wished that he could give her something in return. Not just for his own sake, but because she looked at him and _saw,_ past the scar and the amnesia. And he’d never wanted his memories back as much as he had in that moment, when she’d shared such an intimate truth and all he’d had to offer was himself. What few pieces he had to give, anyway.

But—“Silly,” Koala said, in response to something he hadn’t even spoken out loud, but that going by the look on her face, she’d still heard. “This is enough.”

She didn’t say _you’re enough_ , but he heard it, regardless. And he felt it, in the way she tucked her head beneath his chin, as though it was the easiest thing in the world, and told him to go to sleep.

 

—

 

He’d imagined it more times than he could count, and had believed so earnestly that getting his memories back would grant him some semblance of _peace_ he wasn’t prepared for what it did bring him, in the end.

That first night he didn’t sleep a wink. A reasonable assumption as to the cause was that he’d been out three whole days, but looking up at the ceiling of the infirmary, Sabo knew the truth to be a different one.

It all made sense now; that particular nightmare, and the uncanny feeling that he’d had someone, once. And not just one, but _two_ , and Dadan, and Makino, and—

His mind wouldn’t give him a break, and whenever he closed his eyes what he found wasn’t his brother’s face as he remembered it, sharp-boned cheeks darkened with freckles from the sun and wearing the smirk that promised it would turn the world on its head one day. Now what he saw was the picture from the paper—the boy he’d known once, no longer a boy, sharp cheeks gaunt and sallow and freckles that hadn’t seen the sun in weeks.

No, Sabo didn’t think he could have found sleep if his life had depended on it.

The door slid open then, the hinges creaking, unnaturally loud, given the person who slipped inside, but it was her way of announcing herself, he knew.

Closing the door behind her, Koala leaned her weight against it, and didn’t take a step closer. And she didn’t say anything, not “Scoot over” or “Can’t sleep?” or anything else that she might have said, once. But there was an offer there regardless, Sabo found, sitting loud in her silence.

And he remembered how she’d reacted, the naked relief he’d found on her face when he’d woken to find her at his bedside, and the fear that she hadn’t even tried to talk away, that she’d thought he’d never wake up.

And he didn’t know which of them needed it most tonight, but it didn’t matter.

“Stay?” he asked, voice still a little hoarse from screaming, and then three days without use. And he could probably have said more, or phrased it differently so that it sounded more like an offering and less like a plea, although he didn’t know which of those she heard in truth. But he doubted that mattered much, either.

Wordlessly, she pushed away from the door, kicking her shoes off as she made to cross the length of the infirmary. And she didn’t tell him to make room. Instead, she settled down against his side, the small adjustments familiar things as she made herself comfortable, and when she sighed he felt it as his own.

She was asleep within minutes, and considering the top of her head Sabo wondered idly just how many hours she’d sat awake at his bedside while he’d slept. And he knew she probably hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he didn’t mind, a small, tired smile tugging at his mouth as he remained awake, gaze no longer fixed on the ceiling, but on the soft rise and fall of her back, her breaths heavy with exhaustion.

He’d tell her, he decided. In the morning when she woke, he’d tell her about Ace—about Luffy. About where he’d come from, and the world he’d left behind. The brother he’d lost, and the one who was still alive, somewhere across the sea.

He didn’t know how she’d react; if she’d look at him after and see someone else, someone she didn’t recognise, but even as he thought it another resurfaced, a sudden certainty that if she’d caught him so much as thinking it, she’d have given him an earful.

And it helped, somewhat. It was _enough_ , Sabo found, fingers touching the tips of her hair where it fell against her neck, an anchor in her presence that helped settle his thoughts. His life wouldn’t be the same after this, but for now it was enough, knowing that whoever he’d been and whatever he did with the knowledge, she wouldn’t ask him to be anyone else.

 

—

 

It had changed, over the years. Or, the way others _perceived_ it had changed, even if the two of them hadn’t.

“They’re sleeping together,” he overheard someone saying one day, walking down the corridor to the mess hall. Not a cruel remark, just a matter-of-fact statement. “If you know what I mean.”

He stopped in his tracks, and it took him a moment to realise that they were, in fact, talking about him, although it took the actual mention of his name to solidify the realisation, and it caught him so off guard that for a moment Sabo forgot that he was not-so-covertly eavesdropping.

“You know what it’s like at their age,” came the wistful sigh then. “What I wouldn’t give to be in my twenties again.”

“They’ve been sharing a bed for years, though. They’re not the only ones here who do.”

“Yeah, and it was cute when they were ten, but they’re not anymore. And most grown adults who shack up in this place do it for a very specific reason.”

“They don’t really demonstrate it though, do they? I’ve never even seen them kiss.”

“Maybe they’re just being discreet. Which can’t be said for everyone.”

“Yeah, I—wait, what are you looking at _me_ for?”

“My room is adjacent to yours. And I have ears.”

A spluttering laugh followed that remark, and then footsteps in his direction, and he’d backtracked out of the corridor and the conversation so fast he’d almost tripped over his own feet, and hadn’t been able to look Koala in the eye for the rest of the day.

His blatant avoidance hadn’t gone unnoticed, although Sabo hadn’t imagined it would, which was why he’d been avoiding her in the first place, at least up until the point where she’d tracked him down. And she’d questioned him about it, of course she had, because she’d known something was off, and hadn’t let him off the hook until he’d caved and told her.

When he was done she looked at him, hands perched on her hips and her brows furrowed, and he was torn between trying to decipher what she was thinking, and looking everywhere but directly at her face.

Then, “Does it bother you?” she asked, tilting her head.

Sabo blinked. “Me? Doesn’t it bother _you_?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve heard worse gossip around the halls. This is pretty mild, considering.”

He was sure his expression yielded all of his concerns, because then she sighed, and when she smiled next it was almost rueful. “We can stop, okay? If you’d rather.”

The words were out before he’d had time to think them through. “And if I’d rather we didn’t?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Then that’s okay, too.”

Sabo returned the smile, but watching her now, he wondered if he’d been bolder, he might have asked if she’d rather the rumours were true. And the idea had resurfaced so out of the blue and so suddenly it stole his breath and every coherent thought, until he was left feeling like he’d just been sucker-punched in the gut. Which was fitting, really, given the object of his distress.

He didn’t sleep that night, too busy pondering the shift in his perception of what they were, and he was relieved when she didn’t show up in his room. Relieved, and something else, something that might have been _disappointed_ , even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept it for what it was. Because the implication was such that he didn’t think he could have hidden it from her. She’d take one look at his face and know exactly what he was thinking.

And for all that he knew her almost better than he knew himself, Sabo couldn’t for certain say that he knew how she’d react to something like that.

 

—

 

The rumours ceased to bother him after a while, realising that in a line of work like theirs, people sought small amusements to ease the burden of their business, like mess hall gossip, and a variety of different betting pools. And they were far from the only ones being discussed.

But even if he didn’t care what other people thought, he couldn’t quite seem to get the suggestion out of his mind now that it had taken root—that there might be more between them than strictly platonic feelings. Or at least, the potential for something more.

“You’re hogging the blanket again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Well it is technically _my_ blanket.”

She gave it a tug, but he didn’t relent, and laughed when she shoved the pillow in his face instead.

“What are you, ten years old?” Sabo asked, lifting the pillow to give her a whack with it, but she caught it in time, tugging it out of his hands and out of his reach.

Koala stuck her tongue out. “That would make you nine, then,” she chirped. “Given that you’re a year younger than I am.”

Sabo didn’t offer a remark to that, and hoped his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. And he couldn’t help but think back on the conversation he’d overheard, weeks ago now; that it had been cute when they were ten. Now, ‘cute’ wasn’t the word that came to mind when she raised her arms over her head like that, arching her back in a languid stretch, a contented hum slipping free of her lips and her shirt riding up her stomach.

Well. It wasn’t the _only_ word that came to mind.

And he wondered, in what had become a well-visited line of thought, if she might welcome it if he took things a step further—if he were to kiss her, that is, although there was another thought following at its heels, but it was brutally shoved down before he’d had time to even consider it fully.

Koala tilted her head to look at him then, her expression telling him quite plainly that he hadn’t been able to hide his thoughts as well as he’d hoped, although Sabo figured the heat creeping up his throat might have something to do with it. “What?”

Her hair fanned out across the mattress, and she was fiddling with the corner of the pillow, watching him. And he’d considered how he might go about this more than once, but had always dismissed the idea as something that was more likely to earn him a black eye than happy reciprocation.

Although taking in the sight of her now, her eyes inquisitive and her smile curious and inviting, the urge was there, and suddenly, entirely unavoidable.

He reached for the pillow then, and he saw her eyes flashing, a challenge alighting in them before her smile followed suit. And Sabo acted before he’d given himself time to second-guess the decision, fingers curling around her wrist, giving her hand a tug and startling a yelp from her laughing mouth. But when she fell forward, no doubt expecting to get the pillow in return, he saw her eyes widening, realisation dawning in them half a second before he caught her mouth in a kiss.

It was entirely impulsive, and for a moment he feared she might punch him—or worse, calmly push him away, but when she sighed into the kiss and he felt her hands against his cheeks, pulling him closer, the relief was such that he almost forgot to respond.

She was soft. The whole of her was _soft_ , the hands cupping his face and her lips against his, and it was so at odds with how he’d come to know her, bare-knuckled punches and pinched ears and tripping his feet when they sparred. And yet there were traces of that side of her as well; the grip of her hands a little too strong for tenderness, even if the press of her nose against his was entirely gentle.

Pulling back, her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Sabo didn’t know what he’d expected, but whatever it was it wasn’t what he got.

A huff escaped her, and, “It’s about time!” she laughed, before she smacked him in the face with the pillow. And he was so startled by her reaction for a moment all he could do was gape.

Lifting it from his face, the smile he found on hers was somewhere between fond and annoyed. “I thought I was going to have to do it,” Koala said, fiddling with the corner of the pillow again, before adding, her voice quiet, “Or that—that you might not want to.”

She’d dropped her gaze now, and there were a lot of ways he could handle this, Sabo knew. Laughing probably wasn’t the best option, even if it was a little ridiculous that they’d both held back on account of the same fear. And someone else might have said something suave, but with his mind still reeling from the kiss and her reaction to it, he didn’t think he could have managed to say much of anything.

But then they’d never needed words to _say_ things.

And so instead of talking, he kissed her again.

 

—

 

“Oh?” Robin asked over breakfast, glancing up from her book when they entered the mess. “Something’s different.”

There was something to be said about being under the scrutiny of eyes as knowing as Nico Robin’s, Sabo decided—Dragon’s gaze almost seemed like the kinder alternative in comparison. And he wondered not for the first time what kind of people were in his little brother’s crew, given that she’d introduced herself as the saner of the bunch.

“Is that a new blouse?” she asked Koala then, her smile curving, far too pleased and making no secret of the fact that she’d been referring to something else entirely. “It’s lovely.”

Koala’s eyes twinkled, and Sabo felt suddenly like making himself scarce, but—perhaps deciding she’d teased them enough, Robin smoothly steered the conversation in a different direction, and breakfast commenced without further remarks about new clothes, or the nature of their relationship.

But for some reason her first observation lingered, and, “Is it different?” he asked Koala later, making their way from the mess hall to train.

She tilted her head, and her small smile told him she’d known the question was coming. But the slight twinge of nervousness in her expression also told him she hadn’t been entirely unaffected by Robin’s words. “Do you want it to be?”

Sabo paused, and she came to a stop, one step ahead. The corridor around them was empty, and he watched her outline in the open doorway, the light from outside throwing her shadow large against the stones. “That—depends,” he said at length.

Her brow furrowed a bit. “On?”

He felt suddenly at a loss, as though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it—the sense that he didn’t want things to change, exactly, except it would have to, if they were…more, than they’d been. “On—I don’t know. On us?”

Her look softened a bit at that. “We’re still us,” she said. “Aren’t we? I’m still the same, I just…want to kiss you now.” He watched her worry the inside of her cheek between her teeth. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No!”

Then, realising just how visceral his reaction had to have sounded, and finding in her barely suppressed smile something that looked distinctly _pleased,_ Sabo laughed, rubbing a hand against the back of his head. “I mean—”

She was quick, covering the step spanning the distance between them and lifting up on her toes in a single breath, gloved fingers curling around his cravat to tug him down to meet her. And the kiss was brief, too brief for anyone to catch if they were to walk by, but it lingered even after she’d sank back on her heels, not even bothering to stifle her smile now.

“Don’t overthink it,” she said, smoothing her fingers against the cravat. “Let’s just do what we’ve always done.”

Sabo smiled. “But with kissing?”

She laughed, and when she gave his hand a tug, he followed. “But with _lots_ of kissing.”

 

—

 

It was at once different, and not. They were still them; they still went on assignments together, and sparred after breakfast. Except that when he reached out a hand to help her up now he’d tug her close for a kiss, and whenever he did something particularly reckless on a mission, her anger held a note he hadn’t heard before, something that carried more than just fond irritation at his impulsiveness.

He’d kiss her knuckles then, if she had her gloves off; or her forehead, if she had that furrow between her brows that usually accompanied one of her lectures. And he’d watch her anger bleed out of her, along with a sigh, and she’d punch his shoulder and murmur _idiot,_ and Sabo would refrain from cheekily pointing out that it sounded more like an endearment now than anything else.

They were small changes. She still shared his bed on occasion, except she slept closer now, her fingers curled around his and her head tucked into the crook of his neck. And it would take time for them to see the bigger picture—longer than it took those around them, who saw more clearly, and with all too knowing looks—but when they did see it, the fact that there’d been changes wouldn’t matter.

They were still them.

 

—

 

Eating his brother’s devil fruit had an…unforeseen consequence.

Several, in fact.

“You’re too warm,” Koala groaned, tossing the blanket off. “It’s like sleeping next to a furnace.”

If they’d been younger Sabo might have told her to go back to her own bed; that she would either have to deal with his blanket hogging and his now unnatural body temperature, or take her chances elsewhere.

But they weren’t kids, and they weren’t just friends anymore, either—not for a good while now, and it was impossible to forget suddenly, although he thought it might have something to do with the fact that she’d taken to wearing less clothes to bed.

She blamed it on the heat, and instead of remarking on it Sabo kept his eyes studiously on the ceiling, to keep them from straying anywhere else, like the slip of bare skin below the hem of her thin shirt, or the bare legs that lay, half-tangled in the discarded blanket.

“Sabo-kun.”

He tried to keep his voice level. “Yes.”

“Find anything interesting in the ceiling cracks?”

His sigh held a laugh. And of course she’d noticed—had he really thought she wouldn’t? But she didn’t sound upset, only gently teasing, although he didn’t let himself think too much about what that might mean, knowing it might be nothing.

“I think there’s a new one,” he said. “Over on the left. It looks a little bit like a lizard.”

He felt her shift, the mattress dipping under the movement, but he kept his gaze fixed on that same crack, running through the pale stone. And he knew his accelerating heartbeat betrayed whatever ease he was trying for, but when he felt the touch of her fingertips against his jaw he didn’t care what she found in his eyes when he inclined his head to look at her.

Her hair was an endearing tangle, loose strands clinging to her brow, gleaming with perspiration, and in that moment Sabo thought he couldn’t have dragged his gaze away if he’d wanted to.

She kissed him, then—touched her mouth against his, a seemingly tender gesture but deceptive because it was the kind of kiss that carried _intent_ , and he felt it in more than just the press of her against him. And when he threaded his fingers through her hair and found a sigh shaking loose of her, Sabo felt the decision as she made it, even before she moved, rolling them over until she sat across his hips, the kiss breaking only for a moment, before he felt her smile against his mouth.

He hesitated, hands curved around her shoulders, but when she sank against him he sketched them down her arms, to settle on her hips. And she was _warm;_ a gentler kind of heat than his, and the bare skin that met his fingertips when he dipped them under the hem of her shirt was so soft it dragged a noise from him that it took him a moment to recognise as his own.

He felt her laugh ghosting against his mouth, and there was a question sitting at the back of his tongue—an _are you sure about this,_ because he knew what she had in mind now _,_ but before he could ask she beat him to it.

“Is this okay?” he heard, the murmur questioning, but with the gentle weight of her on top of him and the soft skin under his hands he couldn’t manage much else but to nod, and hoped it wasn’t too eager, or that she could tell how his hands shook, following the arch of her spine under her shirt.

But she didn’t flinch when his fingers found the brand; didn’t break the kiss or pull away, and when he pressed his palm flat against the protruding scar tissue he felt her shuddering sigh, and wondered how deep it had sat when he felt her back sinking under his hands, as though in relief.

It was difficult thinking straight when she was so close, and he could touch her. And this was different from kisses stolen on missions or between sparring rounds, or those that were longer and which sometimes chased them off to sleep, to dreams he hadn’t shared with her yet, and was glad she hadn’t asked about, the times she’d woken to find him gone.

As though having read his mind, Koala drew back, brow arched and her smile entirely too clever, and Sabo felt his laugh as it escaped him, recognising the look—that familiar, all too knowing one that told him certain things hadn’t gone unnoticed now. But then given her position, it wasn’t all that surprising.

But—“Silly,” she told him, flicking his nose, and he wondered if she could read more in his expression than what she felt where she sat across his hips. “I want this.”

She didn’t say _I want you_ , but like so many things between them, he knew it without being told.

He rested his hands on her hips, finding the gesture easy now—natural, as though it required no further thought once he’d done it, but then they’d always been good at accommodating for each other, fitting themselves together, lives and limbs and annoying sleeping habits.

And he wondered then, a shiver of almost giddy excitement following the thought, how this would be; if they’d find a rhythm in this as easily as they did everything else.

Drawing a breath, “So is this where you tell me it’s about time?” Sabo asked, only partly joking, and Koala hummed a laugh, but when she met his eyes her gaze had softened.

“No,” she said, touching his cheek, the pad of her thumb sketching a curving path along the scar. And it was an entirely new thing, Sabo found, because he knew what it was like to feel wanted in this world, but not like this—not this kind of desire, so earnestly offered.

He thought about the mess hall gossip, and how many years it must have flourished without their knowledge, but it ceased to matter when Koala met his eyes, more than a decade of friendship between them but something quite different in the promise he found on her face now as she added—

“I think this is just the right time.”

 

—

 

It ceased to be about nightmares, after that.

Instead it was a wordless question exchanged over the table in the mess, or a lingering touch to his shoulder during training. Little things yielding little, intimate secrets, and they shared a bunk now more often than not these days, even when work and training left them so exhausted they didn’t have the energy for anything but sleep.

Then again, watching the tender sprawl of her limbs against the mattress, her skin bared and her slumber easy and undisturbed, Sabo suspected it had been years since it had been just about nightmares.

 

— 

 

She was asleep against him the night Baltigo went up in flames around them.

And he’d never been more glad of it, tumbling off the bed, half wrapped around her and feeling a loose piece of debris bounce off his back. The ceiling was coming down, and for a moment he kept her tucked beneath him, hands grappling for discarded shirts and trousers, and his heart shoving up his throat, but—“You okay?” he managed, hands finding her shoulders, looking for injuries.

Koala was in the process of pulling on her shirt, and for a single second, when her eyes met his it was _panic_ he found, the same he’d seen so often, waking to find her crawling into bed with him.

But a moment later it was gone, wiped from her eyes and her features and replaced with the same determination that had so often gotten them out of tight fixes. And when she gave a nod he shoved away the urge to kiss her, the act smacking of a this-might-be-our-last sort of finality that he wouldn’t even consider, even as it drummed along his veins with every new crack shooting through the ceiling above their heads.

Pulling on his pants, he didn’t bother grabbing his own shirt, and when they moved he kept one step ahead of her, pushing through the chaos and the fighting. And it was like his nightmares, even if they were old things now, people screaming around him, and fire always at the corner of his vision, eating everything in its path.

But his flames burned brighter this time, and it was what allowed them to escape, out through the ruins of their broken headquarters, little more than a skeleton of charred stone. And Sabo caught a glimpse of where her room had been as they picked their way through the rubble, nothing there now, the entire corridor of rooms having collapsed on itself.

He caught her hand then, and didn’t let go; kept her in his line of sight as they fought their way towards the ship, back to back, an intimacy in their cooperation not unlike another they shared, and a trust just as implicit—a knowledge that when he moved, she’d be there to meet him; a small nudge of her hand, and he’d adjust his stance accordingly.

But he didn’t smile, thinking about it; didn’t zone out like he occasionally did when they sparred, when he couldn’t quite get the image out of his head, of how she looked like perched across his hips. Now it was a darker thought that occupied him, that if they didn’t make it out of here, or if only one of them did…

He didn’t give himself the chance to feel relief, even as they watched Baltigo burning from the deck of Dragon’s ship. Because it was an easy mistake, thinking they were in the clear before they really were, and they’d made enough mistakes already by assuming—by thinking they were beyond being touched, an organisation that couldn’t be toppled like any other.

Koala’s hand was still in his, slender fingers tucked against his palm, her gloves missing. And it wasn’t about comfort now as much as it was a lifeline, and Sabo couldn’t tell if it was anger or grief that made his chest constrict, wondering how many things Blackbeard would take before it was enough.

Dawn had crawled across the sky when they finally retired, and when she tugged at his hand, Sabo followed, not caring who saw or what they read into the gesture, the unspoken question that sat suddenly loud between them, and the near desperate grip of her fingers around his. And it was inelegant, and a little rough, hands gripping too hard for caresses and the feel of her almost too much, after a night that could just as easily have promised him an empty bunk, and no hands nudging his where she wanted them, bossy in this as she was in anything.

He pulled her close, after, despite her muttered protests about his body temperature, although they were half-hearted, Sabo found, as she pressed shaking hands against his back and pushed herself as close as she could get. The bunk was barely big enough for one, and their embrace far from comfortable, limbs intertwined at odd angles and her heartbeat loud in his ears.

“I wasn’t going to,” Koala said then, quietly, and it wasn’t until she continued that he understood what she’d meant. “I had so many meetings today, I was asleep on my feet. And I don’t—I don’t know why I went to your room instead of mine.”

The memory of what her room had looked like resurfaced, and his breath felt suddenly heavy in his chest. But there was something else, too; a refusal to consider what might have happened that manifested in something that felt almost like defiance. Because they’d lost too much tonight to dwell on the things they hadn’t.

He imagined he might have tried for a smile, if it hadn’t felt so beyond his reach, but, “I think the general consensus was that it was  _our_ room,” Sabo said at length. “I keep— _kept_ , finding messages for you on my desk. And you had more clothes there than I did.”

The past tense sat, an acrid taste on his tongue, but he felt Koala hum in agreement. “Then maybe that’s what we should do when we regroup and start over.”

And it might have been too soon, coming from anyone else, but if there was anyone who understood what the words _start over_ entailed, it was her. And it didn’t make better what had happened tonight, but it was enough. Right now, they were _enough_.

“I’d like a bigger bed, though,” she said, and despite himself, Sabo felt his smile quirk.

“If you didn’t hog the whole mattress, we wouldn’t need it.”

“You’re too warm _and_ you snore. If anyone is a bad bunk mate here it’s you,” she huffed. “I don’t even want the blanket anymore—it’s too hot.”

“You’re still here, though,” Sabo said then, before he could stop himself.

Koala was quiet for a long moment, and there was a split second where he regretted saying it; regretted bringing up the suggestion that she might change her mind.

A sigh then, falling against his throat, and, “Silly,” she said, the endearment desperately familiar, but when she splayed the flat of her palm over his heart the words she spoke next sounded more like a promise than a reprimand—

“Where else would I be?”

 


End file.
